


There’s Many A Slip ‘Twixt The Cup And The Lip

by CynSyn



Series: Shorts and One Shots [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Discreet Gentlemen's Club (Good Omens), Falling In Love, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Getting Together, Glory Hole, Happy Sex, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Inspired by Fanart, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, OTP Feels, Porn with Feelings, Sweet/Hot, Tenderness, Victorian, please do not copy to other sites
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:34:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27408157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynSyn/pseuds/CynSyn
Summary: Crowley gets more than he bargained for when he discovers Aziraphale frequenting the same Gentlemen's Club where he has been tending to the glory hole.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Shorts and One Shots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2082246
Comments: 49
Kudos: 234





	There’s Many A Slip ‘Twixt The Cup And The Lip

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by a [gorgeous piece of art I saw on Twitter by Aiwa, Day 28 (Glory Hole) for Kinktober](https://twitter.com/nsfwaiwa/status/1321395467071180801?s=20). My fic is not part of Kinktober, officially, but the art gave me the idea to write this.

Crowley looked in the mirror, running a hand across his face. “I don’t know why I keep doing this to myself,” he said. He let out a weary sigh, closing his eyes as he grabbed either side of the sink basin, leaning his face down. “Yes, I do,” he reminded himself, looking back up into his own eyes. “But this is the last time,” he said, as he often did before doing it again anyway.

He splashed a bit of water on his face, took a deep breath, and steadied his resolve as he finished dressing before heading out to his destination.

It was Tuesday evening, which was the night each week that Crowley spent working at a particular gentleman’s club.

It had been easy enough, keeping this secret from Aziraphale, without ever even having reason to mention it. Conveniently, the angel never invited Crowley to do anything with him on a Tuesday evening, though he would have gladly accompanied him regardless. As it was, however, Crowley was free to perform his duties in the tiny alcove between rooms where he would tend to the gentlemen in the club.

Crowley appreciated the privacy of the space. He could relax without fear of anyone seeing his eyes. He could enjoy a drink, and occasionally perhaps a cigar, check off a few sins on a report for Hell, and not have to actually _speak_ to anyone to do so. All in all, it was generally a nice, relaxing time, aside from occasionally focusing on the bits of flesh being pushed through the holes in the walls on either side of him, though that was far nicer than the version of the same set-up in Hell. But there was another purpose, the _real_ reason he kept going back week after week. 

In the quiet space between the walls, where no one was looking and no one making use of the holes knew his face or name, Crowley thought about Aziraphale. Truth be told, he hadn’t _stopped_ thinking about Aziraphale since first seeing him on a garden wall long, long ago. Crowley couldn’t say precisely _when_ he had fallen for the second time in the eons of his existence, but it was painfully obvious to him by now that he _had_.

There was no getting around it. He was in love with his best friend, an actual, literal _angel_. Beautiful, Aziraphale was, unblemished and pure. And what was Crowley? A literal demon of Hell, foul, unforgiven, and unclean. He had no right to have such thoughts, demon though he was, and the guilt he felt had been eating away at him for quite some time now.

Crowley scowled as he smoked his cigar with one hand, servicing one of the gents through the hole in the wall with the other. He kept his gloves on for this, not wanting to actually touch just any of the humans. They didn’t interest him, not really. They were all simply a means to an end.

Crowley knew what he was waiting for.

Almost like clockwork, he looked up to see the patch of blonde hair at the base of the most beautiful cock he had ever seen, almost angelic, even, if one weren’t concerned with whatever blasphemy that comparison involved. Crowley didn’t know who it belonged to, but that didn’t matter. In fact, he preferred not to know. He didn’t come to the gentlemen’s club to socialize. He didn’t care about getting to know the person on the other side of the wall. Crowley already _had_ a friend. He wasn’t interested in building up personal relationships with mayflies. No, this was what it was.

The person on the other side of the wall was an escape from reality for Crowley. He provided Crowley with a way to fantasize, to pretend that he could have something as pure and holy as Aziraphale to himself. Any sort of guilt over what he was taking from the man dissolved upon the realization that Crowley was hidden away for a reason. The glory holes weren’t the only option in this club. There were plenty of full-body experiences to be had in the dark corners once the lights went out. The men who frequented the glory holes weren’t looking for any sort of connection. They didn’t need eyes to look into or a hand to hold. They wanted their pleasure, and to be done. Crowley gave the man satisfaction without strings, and as such, took his own in return.

If he thought about it hard enough, he could allow himself to pretend and almost _feel_ Aziraphale on the other side of the wall. He even _smelled_ like Aziraphale, because Crowley expected him to. Luckily for Crowley, he had an exceptional imagination, so this wasn’t difficult to do.

Crowley wondered if the real Aziraphale would have felt as wonderful as his imagination.

Crowley smiled, tenderly taking the member in his hand as he stubbed out his cigar in the ash tray next to him. He needed his mouth free for this particular gent. Crowley never did this with the others. It was a rule for himself that he never used his mouth, only ever his hands.

Crowley didn’t quite understand why, but this person was _different_. His own rules didn’t _need_ to apply here.

As the smoke from the stubbed cigar wafted up, Crowley leaned over to press a soft kiss against the softly rounded tip, pulling back to watch as it grew harder and more erect beneath his roaming fingertips as they circled around the base. Slowly, he began to stroke, bringing his mouth back to tap the tip of his tongue against the ridge beneath. Crowley thought about how Aziraphale’s lips might part in a gasp as Crowley took him into his mouth. His own eyes watered at the wonder of how good it would feel to look up into the kind eyes that had looked out across time and space alongside Crowley for millennia.

Another benefit to the privacy of the space between was that he didn’t have to be guarded. He could let go and enjoy himself, though he always miracled it so that he couldn’t hear anyone on the other side of the wall and they couldn’t hear him. It was important to not break the illusion. It all felt incredibly intimate, having this experience all alone with a stranger who had no idea he was being used as a surrogate, and no inclination of the thoughts racing through Crowley’s mind.

Most of the time, Crowley could keep himself under control, politely sitting back, sucking the stranger off until completion. There were other times, such as this one, where his emotional and physical needs worked together to get the best of him. Crowley began to palm himself through his trousers as the gentleman slid in and out, warm and heavy along his tongue. On Tuesday evenings such as this, Crowley would eventually find himself on his knees and pressed up against the wall. One hand clawing at the wall while the other was down his trousers, he furiously fucked his fist as the angelic-surrogate of a stranger thrust into his mouth through the hole in the wall until they chased each other into oblivious orgasm.

There was a fair amount of guilt after each of those encounters. That was always the end of Crowley’s visit until he returned the next week. He would take no more gents after that final encounter of the evening, closing off the holes and quietly leaving through the back exit. He kept to the shadows, speaking to no one as he left each and every time. Crowley didn’t want to risk catching the eye of whomever it might have been and shattering the illusion he worked so hard to maintain.

Each time, Crowley told himself he wouldn’t go back, and each time he went back the following week. This continued on for several more weeks. Crowley would hesitate briefly, then give in and going to the club as he always did. One particularly difficult week, he had almost convinced himself not to go to the point that he was late. He was usually leaving by the time he arrived at the gentleman’s club, but he didn’t intend to stay long anyway. He only hoped he wasn’t too late for his favorite visitor to the holes. Crowley was on his way to his spot between the walls when he heard a familiar voice amidst a commotion in the lobby. Cautiously, he poked his head through the door to get a closer look.

“Oh, dear, I do so hope nothing bad has happened,” Aziraphale said, fretting. “Have any of you fellows heard anything?”

A few of the men in the club shook their heads, each as unaware of why the holes weren’t open this evening as the last.

“Sorry, Ezra, but we know as much as you do,” George said.

“I don’t think he’s the type to tell anyone what’s going on, either,” Paul replied.

“How do you know?” Aziraphale asked.

“I suppose I don’t,” Paul explained, “But if he _were_ , someone might know him. As it stands, none of us have a clue who it is.”

"And you know you can't ask the bigwigs,"George said. "But then again, that's the reason a lot of us come here."

Aziraphale was distracted by a slight movement in the doorway. “ _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale said, his face lighting up in delight at the sight. _Crowley_ was here.

Realization washed over Aziraphale like ice-water. Crowley was _here_. _Why_ was Crowley _here_? Aziraphale specifically came to the club on Tuesdays because Crowley was always busy on Tuesday. He had even set the hours at the bookshop to reflect that. Aziraphale _dreaded_ having to explain what he was doing in this club.

Realizing he had been spotted, Crowley pasted on a smile and stepped out into the lobby to join Aziraphale. Crowley _dreaded_ having to explain what he was doing in this club.

“Angel,” Crowley greeted as he stepped in closer.

“Are you going to introduce us to your friend, Ezra?” One of the men asked. Aziraphale didn’t care much for the way he was sizing Crowley up.

“Oh, well,” Aziraphale faltered nervously. “Niles, this is, erm, well it’s—”

Crowley grinned, extending a gloved hand. “Crowley,” he greeted, nodding his head towards Aziraphale. “Business associates.” Crowley was used to stepping in for Aziraphale when he was asked something difficult to answer. Well, _sometimes_ he grinned and let Aziraphale bluster a bit, but most of the time, he was sympathetic. This was just the distraction Crowley needed, he thought.

Aziraphale smiled warmly at Crowley’s quick save. “Thank you,” he mouthed silently when Crowley turned back around to smile at him.

“Business associates?” Niles asked. “When you called him angel, I thought perhaps you might have been a jilted lover.”

Crowley’s eyebrows rose sharply above his dark glasses.

“I _beg your pardon_?” Aziraphale said incredulously.

“Oh, don’t be shy, Ezra.” Niles said before he turned to Crowley, smiling sweetly. “He was positively _lamenting_ over the fact that he couldn’t visit the holes this evening because they were empty. I wouldn’t imagine anyone with someone like you on their arm would _need_ to visit the holes every week.”

Crowley’s blood ran cold.

“You seem upset,” Niles said, noticing the way Crowley tensed. He traced a finger along Crowley’s arm. “Perhaps I could help take your mind off of things?”

“Um, n-no,” Crowley said, walking away to find a drink.

Aziraphale glared at Niles, divine static barely contained within his corporation. “You, sir, are a flapdoodle and a _bitch_.”

Crowley was on his second drink of whiskey in the short span of time that it took for Aziraphale to find him.

“I’m so sorry you had to hear that,” Aziraphale said, obviously embarrassed.

“It’s fine, Angel,” Crowley said, unable to look directly at him.

“It’s _not_ ,” Aziraphale corrected. While he didn’t mind explaining to Crowley that the reason he had begun visiting this gentleman’s club was a purely innocent interest in the Gavotte, he had absolutely no desire to explain the added bonus of anonymous sex through a hole in the wall while he imagined being intimate with Crowley.

It wouldn’t be polite, for a start.

Crowley said nothing, owing in no small part to the glass pressed to his lips as he drained the rest of his whiskey before waving for another fill.

“You know, I first started coming here to learn to dance,” Aziraphale said quietly.

“And then you started sticking your dick through a hole in the wall,” Crowley replied before he could stop himself.

“I suppose there’s no, erm, no avoiding it, then,” Aziraphale said as he sat down next to Crowley.

“No, no, I’m, I didn’t mean to say that. I’m sorry,” Crowley shook his head. He really was sincerely sorry for saying that. “You don’t owe me any explanation.”

“You seem upset.”

“Took me by surprise, is all,” Crowley explained, unable to look at Aziraphale still.

Aziraphale bristled. “What, that I might have an interest in sex?”

Crowley nodded. It had been easier all this time to tell himself that sex wasn’t something Aziraphale wanted. If it weren’t on the table, it didn’t have to come between them. That was something Crowley could handle, mostly, his Tuesday evenings for the past year notwithstanding.

“I fail to see how it’s any different than enjoying a nice meal or fine vintage,” Aziraphale said in a huff. “And it’s not as if I was hurting anyone.”

“Never said you were, Angel,” Crowley said quietly.

Aziraphale softened, his voice tinged in guilt. “I specifically visited the holes so no attachments could form,” Aziraphale said. “I never wanted to _hurt_ anyone.”

Crowley finally looked up at Aziraphale. Sweet, kind, considerate Aziraphale, always looking past his own needs to ensure others were taken care of first. It was one of the first things that Crowley had ever loved about him. He smiled and turned in his seat to face Aziraphale more fully.

“And I was never pushy about it,” Aziraphale continued. “I always waited towards the end, just before the holes shut down for the night, to make certain everyone else who wanted a turn had one, of course. I’m not greedy, mind, but I did try to wait until I was the last one.”

Crowley was otherwise unaware he had stopped breathing. _No_ , he thought. _It couldn’t be. Could it?_ It was bad enough knowing that there was a chance they had crossed paths, as there were others in the hole throughout the day. But Crowley was the last person to work inside of the hole on Tuesday night, and if Aziraphale made certain _he_ was the last to _visit_ …

Crowley wondered how he might possibly test this theory. It wasn’t as if he could simply say to Aziraphale, ‘ _Pardon me, but I do believe I’ve been anonymously sucking you off every week for the past several months. Would you be so kind as to strip down and show me your cock to confirm?’_

“Are you quite all right, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, concerned with what appeared to be a full-body silent panic before him.

“Fine!” Crowley gasped as his lungs kicked back in before his better judgement. “Never better. In fact, maybe I could be of service to you, if you like.”

 _Oh, Someone_ , Crowley thought _. What the fuck have I done?_

“Service?” Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “Surely, you don’t mean…” Aziraphale’s voice trailed off as he looked around uncomfortably before whispering, “Do you?”

Crowley was an accomplished liar. As a demon, not only was it expected of him, but it was something of a matter of pride. He was an _artist_ , and one of his preferred mediums was _bullshit_. He understood the nuance of a well-crafted fabrication, and it had served him well over the eons.

There were certain things that Crowley knew he could not lie to Aziraphale about. Not because he was incapable of doing so, but because it felt fundamentally _wrong_. Aziraphale was the only being in all of creation that he truly never _wanted_ to deceive. There were only two types of lies he told Aziraphale. The first were those of omission, the ones used to preserve the angel’s innocence and grace. There were also the occasional little white lies that merely _bent_ the truth a bit to tease out what Aziraphale _truly_ wanted, but was otherwise unwilling to _allow_ himself to want, in a situation.

“I’m simply wondering what all the _fuss_ is about,” Crowley said casually as he attempted to recover his composure. What was the harm in Aziraphale inferring that Crowley was implying anything other than his curiosity over _Aziraphale’s_ fuss? Besides, Crowley _needed_ to know. “I suppose I could tempt one of the humans into it,” he said, pausing to glance up over the top of his dark lenses, “Unless someone were to _thwart_ me.” Crowley’s lips formed a slight pout as he tilted his head, waiting for a response.

The pout did not go unnoticed.

Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed in consideration as he watched those tempting lips shift from a pout to a smirk. He knew what this was. Well, perhaps not _entirely_ , but he knew enough to know Crowley was giving him an excuse if he chose to take it. _That clever demon_ , Aziraphale thought, always finding ways to justify whatever Aziraphale wanted so he could enjoy the delights of the world. He had done so over countless centuries with a favor here, an indulgence there, but never anything like _this_.

If only Crowley knew that what Aziraphale _really_ wanted was _him_.

Was Crowley even interested in physical intimacy? Aziraphale chastised himself. He had just gotten upset mere moments prior when Crowley had questioned him in the same way. That hardly seemed sporting at all. Besides, Crowley came here for _some_ reason. It very well could have been for sex. Who was Aziraphale to deny someone a bit of harmless joy?

Aziraphale wondered briefly if this was unfair, to let Crowley touch him in such an intimate manner, knowing Crowley had no idea how Aziraphale felt about him. It wasn’t as if he could very well _tell_ him, not when it could potentially push Crowley away, or worse, get one or both of them killed. While Aziraphale was certain he didn’t want to risk anything happening to Crowley, he knew Crowley wouldn’t have offered something he wasn’t willing to go through with. Maybe he’d make a hollow offer to Hell or as part of a random temptation, but not to _Aziraphale_. Crowley might bend to Aziraphale’s will on the surface, but Crowley wouldn’t offer an option of something he fundamentally did not want.

Knowing this about Crowley, was it wrong of Aziraphale to want what was being offered, when truly he wanted so much more? Was it fair of him to take this, not knowing if his feelings were reciprocal? Or was this simply another facet of their arrangement, their _friendship_ , and he could admit that to himself even if he couldn’t speak of their friendship out loud, with his hereditary enemy?

With a roll of his shoulders, Aziraphale came to a decision.

“Not here,” Aziraphale said, looking around. “There are better areas with more privacy.”

“Right,” Crowley said, swallowing audibly as Aziraphale took his hand to lead him down a hallway.

“Yes, well,” Aziraphale said as they came to a room at the end of the hallway. “We, er, we shouldn’t be interrupted in here,” he said, holding the door open. “After you.”

Crowley stepped inside of the small room, though closet might be more apt of a term. It held a small table to the side, next to a small sofa. The room itself was barely bigger than the space between the walls he had occupied for the past year, but it didn’t appear to have any peep holes or windows, and only one entrance. It was suitable enough, Crowley thought, for its purpose of privacy. Still, a little demonic miracle to encourage people to forget about this room while they were in it wouldn’t hurt.

“So,” Aziraphale began pleasantly as he sat down on the sofa. “What is it about all this fuss you’d like to know about first?”

Crowley stood in front of the closed door, looking around nervously. Upon meeting the angel’s eyes, he became overcome. _This was a mistake_ , he thought. He couldn’t take advantage of Aziraphale like this.

Aziraphale noticed the look on Crowley’s face. “It’s all right if you’ve changed your mind,” Aziraphale said cautiously, hating the words as they came out of his mouth. “If you don’t want to do this with _me_ , I could find someone _else_ that—”

“No,” Crowley said quickly, dropping down to his knees in front of where Aziraphale was seated. Crowley absolutely did _not_ want someone else in this room with him. He had his fill of other people for quite some time.

“If you’re nervous, I can assure you, I’ve done this many times. You needn’t worry over me.” Aziraphale said, soothingly. “Forgive me if this is indelicate, but have you, erm… Is your curiosity owed to a lack of exp—”

“I’ve done _some_ things,” Crowley said quickly. “You know,” he said, wiggling his fingers. That was true, technically. “I’m fine, really. I just want to make certain _you’re_ all right,” he said.

“I am, thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale said, relaxing. He moved to unfasten his trousers. “How would you be most comfortable?”

Crowley reached to still Aziraphale’s hands. “No, let me do it,” he said, letting go long enough to remove his gloves. If he were going to befoul this angel, he would take the full responsibility. Aziraphale’s hands could remain clean.

Aziraphale nodded, leaning back to give Crowley more room to maneuver his fingers along the hooks and buttons of the garment.

Crowley looked down at his prize after pulling down Aziraphale’s trousers and braies. That familiar patch of blonde hair, the perfect curve of the tip, there was no mistaking it. Crowley’s breath caught in his throat. It really _had_ been Aziraphale the whole time. He hadn’t just imagined having sex with Aziraphale. They had already done it.

But this time, it would be _different_. This time, they would both _know_ they were with the other.

Crowley carefully wrapped his hand around the base and placed a gentle kiss upon the tip. As he stroked along Aziraphale’s shaft, he hesitated momentarily. Crowley knew that if he continued the way they had done every week for the past several months from the quiet anonymity behind the wall, there would be no denying that it had been him. He could do something different, he considered, and Aziraphale could remain innocent by virtue of ignorance.

Ultimately, Crowley didn’t want to lie to Aziraphale, and especially not about this.

Crowley glanced up to see the look of growing recognition on Aziraphale’s face as he flicked the tip of his tongue along the ridge, opening his mouth to take Aziraphale between his lips.

Aziraphale reached down to pull himself back before Crowley could take him into his mouth. “It’s _you_. _You’ve_ been the one doing this, all this time.”

Crowley leaned back on his heels, licking his lips and pressing them together in a sharp line. He looked up, wide-eyed and nervous, with a nod.

“Did you _know_ …?” Aziraphale asked warily.

“ _No_!” Crowley blurted out, shaking his head vehemently. “I _never_ knew, I, I didn’t _want_ to know who was out there.”

“You weren’t trying to trick me?”

“Angel,” Crowley said, his voice gone hoarse. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow at him.

“Well, not, er, not before _now_ , but that’s only because I just found out _myself_ and I needed to be certain, didn’t I?” Crowley asked frantically. “I wasn’t sure of _anything_ , really. I had a good idea that it was you. It, it, I knew it _probably_ was, but I didn’t,” he sighed, his jaw tight. ”I didn’t know how to ask you if, well, if it was _definitely_ you, and in case you hadn’t noticed, it was a bit of a shock for me as well.” Crowley shook his head with a groan as he rubbed the heels of his hands across his eyes. What was he doing? How was he supposed to explain it to Aziraphale when he wasn’t certain how to even explain it to himself? Crowley took a deep breath, lowering his hands to speak once he had calmed down a bit more. “I didn’t know how to _tell_ you that I had been in there. But I never intended to lie to you. I thought maybe I could give you a chance to knowingly decide for yourself if doing that with me were something you wanted to try.”

“And if I _hadn’t_?”

“Then it wouldn’t have _ever_ gone a step further, not if you didn’t know, but I did.”

“But you thought it might have been me, tonight, when you presented me with the _choice_ of having you?”

Crowley nodded with a wobbly shrug, unsure of what else to say.

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment. “Crowley,” he asked softly, “Was it _always_ you?”

“D’you mean during this time on Tuesday evenings? Y-yeah,” Crowley replied. “I ‘spose it has been.”

“For how long?”

“Ah, probably a year?”

Aziraphale’s eyes darted away, a flush creeping over his cheeks. “I see.” He smiled coyly at the realization that _whatever_ had been the initial motive Crowley had, it _couldn’t_ have been to tempt him, not at first, anyway. “You’ve been at this club longer than I have, then. I’ve only been coming here for a few months now,” Aziraphale said. Crowley hadn’t intentionally fooled him _at all_.

Crowley nodded. Though he hadn’t realized it was Aziraphale at the time, he remembered vaguely when he began to break his own rules and fantasize more.

“I’ve heard from some of the others that they’ve only ever felt hands when visiting the holes,” Aziraphale said quietly.

“That was a rule of mine,” Crowley explained quickly. “I only ever used my hands, and always with gloves on.”

“Except for me.”

“M-y-yeah,” Crowley answered, looking away.

“Am I to assume I’m the only one who has had your mouth?”

“Ngk,” Crowley said, suddenly at a loss for words. This was true, though he hadn’t really considered that part. His face felt warm.

“If you didn’t know who it was,” Aziraphale asked gently, “Why?”

“Well,” Crowley drawled, “I couldn’t have matched them to a face, but I recognized repeat clients, so to speak.”

“But why was it different _for me_?” Aziraphale asked.

“Oh, don’t make me _say_ it, Aziraphale,” Crowley looked up at him, pleadingly. “I am literally on my knees right now.”

“Crowley…”

Crowley groaned. “You are a right insufferable bastard. Do you know that?”

Aziraphale nodded with a shrug. “So I’ve been told.”

The two stared at one another in the dim light of the room where they were hidden away from the rest of the club.

“Tell me, please,” Aziraphale whispered, gently running his fingers through Crowley’s hair.

Crowley leaned into the touch blissfully, his guard falling down all over again. “I pretended he was you.”

Aziraphale laughed, a small, delicate sound that enveloped Crowley in a warm blanket of comfort. “My dear, obviously, you have an exceptionally vivid imagination.”

“Obviously,” Crowley replied, looking down. “What do we do now?” He asked, quietly.

Aziraphale’s fingers slipped from Crowley’s hair down to his chin, tilting the demon’s head back up. Lust-darkened eyes met with the soft glint of gold in the dim light. “I do believe you wanted to know what all of the fuss was about,” Aziraphale said in a low voice, brushing his thumb across Crowley’s bottom lip.

Crowley’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, his eyes searching Aziraphale’s face for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, with a hitch of his breath, Crowley reached up to take Aziraphale’s cock in his hand. Without breaking eye contact, Crowley began to stroke, renewing both of their erections, before parting his lips to take Aziraphale between them once more.

The sound of Aziraphale’s soft gasp as Crowley wrapped his lips around the tip snaked its way throughout Crowley’s entire body, sending warm shivers down his back. The sounds, Crowley had no idea how much he needed to hear Aziraphale’s pleasure, but he knew he would never forget the first note in a litany of divine ecstasy.

Aziraphale tasted sweeter than Crowley remembered. He wondered if that had anything to do with knowing it was Aziraphale, and that Aziraphale knew it was him. Perhaps it was that the bitterness of guilt was no longer there. Regardless, Crowley craved it and swallowed it gratefully as he inhaled the familiar scent of an angel.

Crowley was touching Aziraphale, and being touched _by_ Aziraphale. He could reach and touch any part he wanted, no longer simply scrabbling for purchase against a cold wall. Aziraphale was warm, soft, and _real_. Crowley whimpered at the sensation of fingernails on his scalp. It felt so much more incredible than he had ever imagined while doing this, and he had imagined it several times in _several_ ways.

Crowley’s hand reached down to open his own trousers, sliding inside of his undergarment for his own achingly hard cock. He gripped himself tightly, matching his own strokes to the pace set by Aziraphale’s hands fisting into his hair. Soon, Aziraphale began thrusting his hips, sliding in and out of the warm, wet heat of Crowley’s mouth. Crowley’s moan was only barely muffled by Aziraphale’s cock as he came, sending Aziraphale over the edge as well.

Aziraphale closed his eyes and leaned back on the sofa, attempting to catch breath he didn’t need. Crowley, still on his knees in the floor, laid his head over on one of Aziraphale’s thighs, looking up at Aziraphale in wonder and delight.

After a few minutes, Aziraphale opened his eyes again, reaching for Crowley to pull him up into his lap.

Aziraphale’s voice, though thick with want, was barely above a whisper. “I would like nothing more right now than to kiss you.”

Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s neck before pressing a smile against Aziraphale’s lips. After several minutes, they pulled apart enough to see one another, but still close enough to touch.

“I’ve loved you for so long,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale’s face contorted into something pained as he looked up and then back to Crowley. “I—"

Crowley leaned in, pressing their foreheads together, almost trembling as he swallowed thickly. “It’s all right, Angel,” he said quietly, jumping in as he usually did to spare Aziraphale the things he couldn’t say. “I understand.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said gently, pulling his face back to look into the demon’s eyes. “It isn’t that I—”

“You don’t have to say it,” Crowley interrupted again, taking Aziraphale’s hand within his. He brought them both to rest over his own heart. “But can you _feel_ it?”

Aziraphale took in a sharp breath as he gave a quick, small nod.

Crowley released the breath he had been holding with a small laugh. “I don’t even _need_ the heartbeat, but the damned fool thing won’t _stop_ beating for _you_.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes tightly as he collected his thoughts. Cautiously, he leaned forward, bringing his lips first to press a soft kiss upon Crowley’s cheek, and then close to his ear to whisper. “I rather think I should be quite pleased to know that. And if _you_ were amenable, given the difficulty with which the information must be conveyed, I should hope you’d like to know that I share that symptom as well.”

Crowley smiled. “I am, and I do.”

Aziraphale pulled Crowley up against his chest, wrapping one arm around his back while the other hand stroked his hair. _I don’t know what I would do if ever anything happened to you,_ Aziraphale thought. _Sometimes I think you may be the only being in all of creation who truly would be there for me. I hope you understand all the things that I dare not say._ Aziraphale pressed a soft kiss into the demon’s hair. He closed his eyes, allowing his guard to come down enough to let everything between them in. He smiled at what he felt through the contact of Crowley’s skin against his own. It was incredible, how much that could be conveyed by a single touch. _I suppose you must do_ , Aziraphale realized with a glad heart.

 _I’ve finally got you_ , Crowley thought as he nuzzled against Aziraphale’s neck. _I’ve got you, and I don’t ever want to let you go._ His joy was short-lived, however, when he realized what could possibly happen if either of their sides discovered what they had done.

It wasn’t as if they hadn’t had any experience in keeping secrets from their respective head offices. The arrangement, after all, was dangerous enough. Aziraphale feigned innocent denial, both to the outside world and possibly to convince himself, Crowley sometimes thought. Plausible deniability was a strong piece of Aziraphale’s armor. Crowley, however, leaned into the hints of discovery as they crept up, knowing there was a way to put a spin on anything they did for the arrangement. Crowley was nothing if not a showman, and the more convoluted the explanation, the easier it was to get away with it. Aziraphale had earned him a few commendations in Hell, as a matter of fact.

Crowley didn’t think he’d be able to explain away being caught _in flagrante delicto_ with an angel while waves of love cascaded off of him. He hoped that Heaven would be more forgiving of Aziraphale, at least, though he had personally never experienced that.

Given some of the things Crowley had slipped into the reports he filled out, he knew they weren’t particularly observant of Aziraphale’s reports. Maybe Heaven could be convinced this was an attempt to _overpower_ him. Crowley grinned against Aziraphale’s skin at the way he had been _thwarted_ only moments before, sobering quickly as his train of thought got back on track. Crowley _knew_ the lengths that Hell would go to if they were discovered together. They wouldn’t be convinced that this had been a battle against the opposition.

Crowley needed to protect Aziraphale, whatever the cost. In order to do that, he was going to need some sort of provision, an _insurance_ that they could keep their secret safe.

Crowley began to formulate a plan…

**Author's Note:**

> The working title of this was Dick Suck Cinderella. That’s the name the file is saved under on my computer. A couple of people who saw this while I was writing insisted that I was a coward if I didn’t actually go with that title, but I had something else in mind a bit later that I really felt made the most sense. The actual title is an ancient proverb, similar to several across the world. It means that a lot of things can go wrong between picking up the cup and actually getting to drink it. This story sets up the St James Park miscommunication (along with the follow up during the Blitz)  
> I kept getting distracted by a seven-year-old who was ribbon-dancing with long scarves in my peripheral view while writing. Unfortunately, this line didn’t make the cut, but I was asked by a few people to include it anyway. The compromise, much like the title, is that the first version is here in the notes. 
> 
> __  
> **As the smoke wafted up, Crowley leaned over to press a soft kiss against the tip tap the tip of his tongue against the tip.**  
> 


End file.
